


Bittersweet And Strange

by themonstersweaknesses



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:01:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1356862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themonstersweaknesses/pseuds/themonstersweaknesses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle and Rumple dance in the Dark Castle's library</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet And Strange

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Once Upon A Time

The Dark Castle’s library was huge. Its ceiling soared far above Belle’s head, giving the room a vast, cavernous appearance. Despite its massive size, the library felt somehow cozy. The grand stone fireplace was always alight; warm firelight spilling into the room, sending shadows dancing across the broad oak bookshelves which housed lifetimes of enchanting stories and tales.

Belle was nestled in one of the deep leather armchairs to the side of the room opposite the wide oak door. The comforting glow from the fire tiptoed over the hardwood floors and rich oriental rugs to lap at the edge of Belle’s chair, carefully warming her knees through the sky blue fabric of her soft, sleeveless nightgown. Her chestnut hair splashed over her bare shoulders in soft waves, the golden glow of the fire bringing out the scarlet undertones.

Sighing lightly, Belle shifted in her seat, her head laying back to rest in the cool leather where the back of the chair met the side, and turned the page. She was so engrossed in what had become her favorite book that she didn’t hear him come in.

Rumpelstiltskin had stopped making grand entrances, at least in the Dark Castle where there was no one to see him but Belle. He no longer felt the need to intimidate her. Not that it seemed to have worked when he was trying. No, now he used the door. Like a man. Like an ordinary man.

He saw her as soon as he opened the heavy oak door. She was curled up in the chair she had adopted as hers months ago. Her bare toes were tucked up under her, her knees on the edge of the seat. Her bay-blue eyes were downcast, playing over the pages of the worn book in her lap. The firelight reached her just so the warm glow fell gracefully across her knees, fingers, and the book pages, but left her face in soft, cool shadow.

Not wanting to disturb her, but equally unwanting to leave her presence, the mighty Dark one took a seat in another wide leather chair on the edge of the fireplace closer to the door. From his vantage point, he could see how quickly Belle’s eyes traversed the pages before her, clearly eager to taste the words so carefully crafted on the page. She had her lower lip pulled into her mouth and held there, a look of concentration for sure, but there was plenty of enjoyment there as well. The corner of her lip that was free from her teeth quirked up as she found delight and excitement in whatever tale she was reading.

Rumpelstiltskin sat silently as she watched Belle read. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the flames in the hearth and the periodic rustling of Belle’s page-turning. Leaning against the back of his chair, Rumpelstiltskin crossed one leather-clad leg over the other and placed one hand under his glistening chin, the deep red silk covering his elbow pressing into the padded arm rest and watched her. He studied how her thin fingers gently rubbed the old pages back and forth, how the corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled to herself, and how her pale cheeks broke into a rosy flush as she looked up and saw him staring.

She saw him staring. Flustered, he shifted suddenly in his chair, uncrossing his legs, then crossing them again, one hand raking nervously through his wavy hair, the other fluttering anxiously in midair before fiddling with the ties at the top of one of his knee-high boots. Belle smiled at his discomfort, giggled even, then dog-eared the page to mark her place and shut the book, her forearms lying across the heavy cover protectively.

She was still smiling at him when he regained his composure enough to speak. “So,” he began a bit shakily. “What are you reading?” Her smile unfading, Belle lifted the book from her lap so he could see the cover. “That one?” Rumpelstiltskin’s eyebrows lifted, half in recognition, half in surprise. “But you’ve read it twice.”

Glancing down at her lap, Belle’s smile turned bashful. Her blue eyes were still alight, but there was a trace of almost embarrassment behind them and it took her a moment before she spoke. “It’s my favorite.” Her voice was shy at first, but gaining in what sounded like courage as she progressed. “Far off places, daring swordfights, magic spells, a prince in disguise.” Her eyes didn’t meet his until the last phrase was on her lips. Her voice was wistful and her smile had turned sad.

For once, at a loss for words, Rumpelstiltskin just sat there watching her, unsure of how to react. They sat in silence for a few moments, his deep brown-violet gaze held firmly, but loosely by her blue one. After a moment, he nodded slowly. “A prince,” his tone was flat, almost cold. “I see.”

Belle’s blue eyes narrowed briefly before her face broke into a wide smile, her tinkling laugh filling the quiet room. When her laugh slowed to a soft chuckle, she shook her head, sending her chestnut curls spilling in delicate waves around her shoulders and over her eyes. Guiding a loose curl behind one ear, she spoke, her voice kind and intelligent and so very Belle.

“It’s not the prince that appeals to me so much. Not the power. What intrigues me about this story is the disguise. He builds up this façade of strength, of anger. He tries his best to guard himself, his heart, but around the inventor’s daughter, a girl who he has no reason to take interest in, his walls slip.” She pauses briefly, her words fading from her lips, but lingering in the air between them. Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, “And beneath it all, he’s a gentleman.”

It was hard to ignore her subtext, Rumpelstiltskin realized, but her implications were all wrong. He had built walls, that much was true. And maybe he had no reason to be interested in her, but he was no prince. And he certainly was no gentleman. Shaking his head lightly in an attempt to clear his mind, he sighed. Rising slowly from his chair, his eyes never leaving hers, he spoke. “Well,” he began, his voice sounding more Spinner and much less Dark One than it had at the beginning of this conversation. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your story.” He turned towards the door with every intention of leaving, his words barely found their way over his shoulder and to Belle’s ears as he muttered, “Or your gentlemanly prince.”

“No,” she called out to him as he reached the library door, his hand resting on the cool metal of the doorknob. “No, it’s fine. I’m at a good stopping point.” Even without turning to see her, he could tell she was smiling. He could hear it in her voice. “I just finished my favorite part.”

“Oh?” Rumpelstiltskin asked as he turned back to face her. Belle smiled again, having effectively pulled him back into conversation. “And what part was that, dearie?”

Se slid forward in her chair, unfolding her legs from beneath her until they were hanging over the edge of the seat, her bare toes burrowing into the plush Oriental rug on the floor. Her arms moved from her lap to the wide leather armrests, her fingers pressing lightly into the front edge. Belle wasn’t sure why she felt shy all of a sudden. It was just a book. She shrugged, trying to make herself feel comfortable again. “They dance.” She said simply. Then, seeing his eyebrows raised, she explained herself. “The prince and the inventor’s daughter. They are at the prince’s castle and he lets his guard down. Lets her in. And they dance.”

“And this appeals to you, dearie?” He asked, genuinely curious. It’s not that he thought she wouldn’t like dancing. It’s just, he thought she was more intellectually inclined. Reading, definitely. Maybe writing. But dancing? It just didn’t seem to fit.

It took him a moment to realize he was staring at her and yet another moment to realize she was staring at him in return. Her look was expectant, almost as though she was waiting for him to answer her. “Sorry?” he asked her, realizing he must have missed her speaking.

She giggled lightly, shaking her head at him. “I just asked if you dance,” she repeated.

Rumpelstiltskin opened his mouth then closed it again, as though his words had left him. Glancing back at the broad oak door behind him, he sighed almost tiredly before padding slowly back to his seat from earlier. He sat heavily in the chair, the leather of the cushion bending slightly beneath the leather of his pants. He opened his mouth again, clearly accepting that he would have to engage in conversation. “No,” he began, a hint of resignation in his voice. “No, I do not dance.”

Belle inhaled sharply, mentally bracing herself. It was now or never. Do the brave thing…

Getting to her feet, the hem of her light blue nightgown fluttering around her knees, she extended one hand towards him. His dark eyes followed her as she stood, narrowing in confusion. “Come on,” she said to him, her voice the perfect combination of kindness, hopefulness, and determination.

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed firmly, blinking slowly, before finally taking her hand and rising from his chair. Everything in him was screaming for him to turn and run. He was Rumpelstiltskin — the Mighty Dark One — not some Prince Charming! He wasn’t supposed to do this, to dance, but Belle seemed to want this. And maybe, just maybe, he wanted this too.

So he stood. He let her lead him into the middle of the rug that lay between the two leather chairs. The flickering firelight splashed against their bodies, leaving their shadows swaying against the bookshelves on the surrounding walls.

They stood in the center of the room facing each other, Rumpelstiltskin’s hand still held in Belle’s, loose enough so he didn’t feel trapped, but tight enough for him to know that she wasn’t leaving. Because she wasn’t. No matter how hard he tried to push her away, she wouldn’t leave him.

Belle put one hand on Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder and took another step towards him. Rumpelstiltskin stood, unmoving, for fear of doing something wrong. People didn’t stand this close to him. Ever. His breath hitched as he felt the warm, light pressure of Belle’s hand on his shoulder and she looked up at him, her eyes glinting. “You act like no one’s ever asked you to dance before,” she said, clearly in response to his discomfort, her tone light and sprinkled with mirth.

A shadow fell across his eyes, dulling the flecks of violet and gold that were usually sparkling there. “Who would have asked me to dance?” There was no “dearie,” there was no sharpness, no bite. He was genially perplexed, Belle realized with a start.

Her heart clenched in her chest as she caught a glimpse of his pain. He was hurting, nothing more than another desperate soul, aching and yearning for love, but being too closed off and damaged to accept it when it found him.

She blinked back the tears which had begun pricking behind her eyes, willing them to go before he could see them. Gently squeezing his shoulder, she smiled, sweet and honest. “Well, now you’ve been asked,” Belle told him kindly. “Do you know how?”

His only response was a subtle shake of his head, as though it pained him greatly to admit that he, the Mighty Dark One, didn’t know something. Belle’s breath came out in a short giggle. “Here,” she said, her smile seeping into her voice. “Let me show you.”

Slowly, methodically, Belle raised their hands, still clasped together, until they were about even with her pale shoulder. Then, after a moment’s hesitation and with unending care, she removed her other hand from Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder and took his free hand in her own, guiding it gently to her waist. He let his hand go willingly, but she didn’t miss his sharp inhale as his palm came to a rest, his fingers splaying over the small of her back. His touch was warm through the thin fabric of her nightgown, pressing the blue cloth softly against her skin.

Belle took a deep breath then, ever so slowly, her feet began to move.

It was a bit strange, she thought to herself, being the one leading. Whenever she had had to dance with Gaston, he had led her, and not been very kind about it, she might add; pushing her around and treading on her toes if she failed to move quickly enough. But dancing with Rumple was different. She was leading, yes, but it was more than that. The way he watched her, his deep brown-violet eyes studying her thoughtfully, as though she mattered. As though he wouldn’t pawn her off on some unsuspecting stranger the moment an even slightly more appealing dance partner came his way. As though it was her he liked being around, not the idea of her. As though he wasn’t the beast everyone, including himself, made him out to be.

Belle was pulled out of her reverie by Rumpelstiltskin softly clearing his throat which she felt through her hand which had found its way from his shoulder to the back of his neck, rather than heard. She felt her face get hot, tingeing pink, as she realized she had been staring at him. She let out a clipped, awkward half-giggle and he smiled. It wasn’t his usual smirk; there was no malice there, no mockery. It looked almost as though he were happy.

“That’s a good look for you,” Belle said, her voice spilling out into the rest of the room as Rumpelstiltskin took charge for a moment, twirling her out so she was at arm’s length, the only thing joining them being their intertwined fingers.

“What is?” he returned as he spun her back to him, his accent one step deeper than usual; one step more human.

Continuing to dance, Rumpelstiltskin took a step forward, but Belle did not step back in response. Instead, closing her baby blue eyes, she leaned into him, ducking her head so it lay lightly against his chest. Breathing in deeply, she smiled against him. He smelled like rich leather and wood smoke and something spicy she couldn’t name. When she finally spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper. “Your smile,” she said softly into the dark leather and sweet, red silk that covered his chest. “You look happy.”

Rumpelstiltskin inhaled slowly, completely, drinking in the scent of her. Roses, damp from a late spring rain and the dust and parchment of old books. Smiling against the soft chestnut waves of her hair, he pulled her even closer, his arm around her waist tightening. It was bittersweet, he decided, this time with her. And strange, certainly. And he may feel like a fool, but he was the only one dancing with her. And for right now, that was enough. So he closed his eyes and held her tight and whispered into her hair, “Happy? Yeah. I guess I am.”


End file.
